


Communauté

by barefootwithneonhands



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Other, Secret Santa Summer Hell 2016, Spoilers through Episode 37, Spoilers through Pagliacci, crackfic, sssh2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barefootwithneonhands/pseuds/barefootwithneonhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you KIDDING ME,” said Officer Eiffel. “We had a musical gas leak episode and I don’t remember it? Oh my god! NOT COOL!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communauté

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GalaxyOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/gifts).



> Happy Secret Santa Summer Hell 2016, GalaxyOwl!

Space, being a noise-eating vacuum, was always silent. Space stations, being populated by humans, were rarely silent. But in the occasional quiet hours when the entire crew was asleep and she was left to her own thoughts, Hera relished the quiet. Not being alone, exactly, but the stillness gave her time to slow down, to turn inward, and to come close to what she thought it might be like when an organic brain dreamed.

“ _La cucara-cha_! _La cucara-cha_! Blah, blah blah blah blah blah blaaahhhhh!”

Perhaps being alone wasn’t an entirely awful thing.

“Hera, baby, come sing with me!”

Synapses pinging sluggishly Hera pulled her attention from the deep computational routine Dr. Maxwell had left her with before going to bed. The upgrades Dr. Maxwell had given her were completely kick ass, but the extra work that she now had to do was… less so.

Her consciousness flickered through each room on the station until she found Officer Eiffel lying on the floor of the mess. “Of-Officer Eiffel? Are you okay?”

“Hera, baby, darling, honey boo, I am _fantastic_. I am better than _fantastic_. I am supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” He began to giggle and drum his heels against the metal floor.

If Hera could have winced, it would have been the biggest wince since the silent film era. “Officer Eiffel, did you steal Colonel Keppler’s whiskey? Are you… drunk?” She knew with 98.3% certainty he hadn’t managed to get his moonshine still back up and running since Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski had gone after it with a hammer.

“I dunno.” Officer Eiffel sighed. “I just feel. I feel. _Good_.” The marvel in his tone hurt. The fact that he hadn’t sounded like this since he’d come back from the dead hurt worse.

He giggled again and rolled onto his belly, groping under the mess table for something she couldn’t see from the position of her camera. She made a note to tell the _Hephaestus_ crew of this additional blindspot in her security system the next time they were all together.

“Whatcha… whatcha got there, Officer Eiffel?”

“Found it!” Hera watched his ass rear into the air and heard a loud smack over the intercom. Then he groaned.

“You’re… uh, still under the table, Officer Eiffel. In the mess,” she added helpfully. “At 0-0-0347 hours.”

“I don’t feel as good, Hera.”

She wished she had hands so she could pull him out from under there and give him a solid shake. Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski got to do it all the time, and she didn’t enjoy it half as much as Hera would have if she’d only been able to do it once.

A warning began to ping faintly from somewhere in her deep core systems. She ignored it and tried to zoom in closer on Officer Eiffel.

“Officer Eiffel?” Hera centered herself and then forced her way past her protocol programming for a wrenching moment. “Doug?”

“ ‘S okay,” Officer Eiffel moaned. He began to scoot backward on his stomach with a strange, undulating motion she’d never seen a human use before. She had a few videos of worms and other wildlife in her database, and they were close. But this was… novel.

“Really? It’s okay? Are you totally, completely sure about that?”

Officer Eiffel’s stubbled head popped up from under the white metal table. “Totally okay! It got the maracas back!”

The warning ping became more insistent.

“Maracas. Maracas? Where did you get,” he held up a triumphant arm and shook a long, metal canister she was pretty sure he’d scavenged from the food stores on the _Urania_ , “maracas?” 

The canister gave a dull, metallic jingle. “Ahhhh made em mah own self!” Officer Eiffel shoved himself into a sitting position, the arms of his half-unzipped jumpsuit puddling around his thin waist. An old image of a lean but muscular Officer Eiffel superimposed itself on her consciousness. At least his hair and fingernails were coming back.

Hera forced herself back to the immediate problem. “You… made maracas. At 0-0-0349 hours? Because…?”

“Because it’s Mardi Gras, baby! WOOOO!” Officer Eiffel struggled to his feet, swaying dangerously in the harsh light of the mess. He grinned up at her camera, several millimeters wider than a normal happy human smile. Several millimeters wider than one of Captain Lovelace’s angry smiles, too. This was... the words ManiaPsychosisSerialKiller whipped through her until she landed on “terrifying”.

She’d experienced “terrifying” when she met Mr. Cutter. She’d experienced “terrifying” when Captain Lovelace had threatened to kill her friends. She’d experienced “terrifying” when Officer Eiffel had died. But the “terrifying” that came with Officer Eiffel shaking a homemade maraca in the mess at 0350 hours in late November was the worst yet.

Hera catalogued this for further analysis. And the ping became an AAARROOOGGGGAAAA AAARROOOGGGGAAA AAARROOOGGGGAAAA.

She split her awareness, ghosting back over the computational routine and down to the source of the problem. Which was… oh crap. Hera snapped her attention back into the mess just in time to hear Officer Eiffel yell, “Sing along if you know the words!”

“Officer Eiffel! Of. Ice. Er. EIFFEL!”

 “Bwhuh?” Officer Eiffel stopped swishing his hips and titled his head back.

 “Officer Eiffel. Please. You’re suffering carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“I’m high?” He nodded in time to the still rumbling maracas. “I kinda feel high. Kinda… hhiiiiigh.” He began to giggle again.

 “Yeah? Well pretty soon you’re gonna be sorta dddeeeeaaadddd. Can you focus?”

He stilled and ducked his chin, eyes screwed up in what Hera had come to learn was deep contemplation.

“Nope.”

“NOPE?” Hands. She needed hands. So she could slap him.

He nodded and his foot started to tap. “Nope. Sorry babe. When it’s _Carnivale_ , you gotta _dance_!”

Hera slammed the door to the mess and locked it tight. Frantically she tried to reroute the air recirculation through the auxiliary system while questing down the node lines for the source of the break.

Reroute: FAILED.

She screamed to herself, synapses lighting up like a storm ridden by singing Valkyries. How about recalibrating the switches in the main bypass?

Recalibration: FAILED.

A node line reached out and snagged at her, dragging across her consciousness like nails on a chalkboard. She activated the camera in the corridor nearest the sensation and tried to zoom in on the air recirculation hub.

It was bleeding. Rusty, viscous oil seeped between slashed wires and onto the dull floor below. Air wheezed from torn hoses with an asthmatic gasp. She zoomed out again and then refocused on the object lying beneath the carnage.

An axe.

Sabotage.

Reroute: FAILED.

Recalibration: FAILED.

Double sabotage. Triple. Quadruple? Someone had destroyed the air recirculation system at one of its main hubs. Someone had disabled her backup protocols. Someone had suppressed her monitoring systems. If Officer Eiffel hadn’t been awake and acting more strangely than usual she may never have noticed.

Hera sent her senses out into the life support system and what they delivered back chilled her like the icy void of death outside her windows. Carbon monoxide levels were rising throughout the ship. And another gas, something she didn’t have a record of in her database, was along for the ride.

She screamed again and flew back to the mess. “What did you DO?”

Officer Eiffel spun in a clumsy circle. “I got the rhythm baby, yeah!”

“Did you take an axe to me? I swear if you took an axe to me—“

His stupid duct tape maracas stilled. “Yeah, an axe!”

“WHAT?” She would find hands. She would build herself hands. She would build hands and wrap them around his skinny neck and put him out of her misery. Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski would probably help.

Officer Eiffel chucked the maracas over his shoulder. “Air guitar, baby! Neeenerneeeen nuhhh nnnneeeen!” He dropped to his knees and put his whole body into what, had Hera not been ready to violate her Do Not Kill Crewmembers Protocol, she would have acknowledged as a truly righteous air guitar solo.

“Clearly you have lost your _mind_.”

“Rock me, Amadeus!”

Hera sighed and began to broadcast “Doug Eiffiel’s Greatest Air Guitar Hits” into the mess. Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski could help her kill them after she’d saved everyone. Again.

* * *

Fortunately Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski was in her bunk. Where all sensible humans should have been while Hera was trying to do their dammed deep space infrared computational routines while they were out of the way.

Unfortunately, Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski was also awake. And also singing.

“Paaaaiiiitence is a viiiiiiirrrtttuuuueee,” Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski crooned in a deep alto. “Maaaaannnnerrrrs maketh maaaaan.” She stood by the window, staring out at Wolf359. Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski’s back was straight and her hands were clasped oddly at waist height. An old memory began to tap desperately at Hera’s awareness.

Hera told it to go fuck itself. “Lieutenant?” (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER)

Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski stamped her foot. “Not now Hera.”

“But Lieutenant—“ (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER)

“Go away, Hera. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski twisted further away from the camera and squared her shoulders again.

“Uh, creepily serenading the star that may one day kill us all?”

At this, Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski spun toward Hera’s camera. “How _dare_ you,” she hissed. “How dare you besmirch my masterpiece?”

Terrifying. There it was again, that chill down her core processor. Maracas were terrifying. Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski with her hands locked together as she advanced across her room was terrifying. Humans singing were just terrifying.

“Masterpiece,” Hera said weakly.

Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski flung her arms wide. “ _Pryce and Carter’s Deep Space Survival Procedure and Protocol Manual_ set to the music of Gilbert and Sullivan. The two greatest specialists in space survival and the two greatest composers brought together in one magnificent opus.” Small flecks of spittle flew from Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski’s mouth on each syllable. “It. Is. Sheer. BRILLIANCE!”

Hera quietly sealed Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski’s door. “Oooh-kay. That sounds fantastic Lieutenant,” (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER), “I’m really happy for you. I can’t wait to hear it when you’re done. I’ll… I’ll just check back with you in a bit, okay?”

Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski lowered her hands and turned back to the window. “I need peace to finish, Hera. Please see that I get it.”  
  
“You got it, Lieutenant.” (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER)

Please oh please oh please let the one who was already crazy be able to help.

* * *

The room was dark. And silent. The blackout shades were drawn against the permanent blue twilight of Wolf359.

Hera braced herself. “Uh. Captain Lovelace,” she whispered into the still room.

A snort.

“Captain… Lovelace?”

“Whazzat?”

Hera paused. The vocal pattern laced through that particular “Whazzat?” did not match any known vocalizations she had on file for Captain Lovelace. In fact…

“Hera?”

“Oh my god.” Hera turned off her camera as a pale arm, an arm that did not belong to Captain Lovelace, reached out of Captain Lovelace’s bunk and fumbled for the light.

“Hera,” asked the voice again. It was stronger this time. More alert.

“Dr.… Maxwell?”

The snort came again. The snort, on the other hand, did match Captain Lovelace’s vocalizations.

Perfectly.

“Oh my god.” Hera double checked the life support systems again. CO2, still rising. Mystery gas, still rising. Immanent death of the entire human _Hephaestus_ crew, still approaching. Her own death? Closer.

“What’s wrong, Hera,” asked Dr. Maxwell.

“Why the hell are we awake, Hera,” snapped Captain Lovelace.

“Uh,” said Hera.

“Hera, report!” The Captain’s voice was muzzy with sleep and laced with steel.

“Oh god. Uh… someone sabotaged the air recirculation system and disabled my backups and prevented me from noticing until it was almost too late and the air on the _Hephaestus_ is being poisoned and is going to kill you all slowly and uh-uh-uh-uh I’m sorry about everything including waking the two of you up because I didn’t know and I don’t think I was supposed to know and uh-uh-uh-“

Dr. Maxwell groaned. “Deep breath, Hera.”

“Breath? Oof!” Captain Lovelace coughed. “Breath. Right. Take one. Calm down.” She sighed. “Okay. So someone tampered with the air on the ship, and with you. And we need to fix it. Is that everything?”

Dr. Maxwell giggled. “I could totally write a killer computer yoga routine for you, Hera. Very calming. Digital downward dog!” The giggles took on an hysterical edge.

In addition to hands, Hera often wished she had a forehead so she could bang it against something. “Did I mention that there’s a secondary gas that’s making everyone super loopy?”

Flesh slapped against flesh and the giggling became muffled. “Define loopy,” said Captain Lovelace. Then she, too, stifled a laughing snort. “Cut that out,” the Captain said softly.

Or a face, so she could do a full and effective facepalm like Officer Eiffel did every time Lieutenant (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER) Lieutenant Minkowski started talking about operational integrity and the inherent virtues of professionalism. A face would be great. You could… do things with a face. And with Officer Eiffel. Who had a face, too.

“Hera!”

“Sorry, sorry. Trying to, uh, catalogue the situation. Ah. Right. Officer Eiffel thinks it’s Mardi Gras and is sealed in the mess playing air guitar. Lieutenant,” (CommanderLieutenantCOMMANDER), “Lieutenant Minkowski is trying to write a musical using _Pryce and Carter_.”

“Snuffy Pants, I said cut that _out_ ,” the Captain whispered.

“You know, I’ve been trying to avoid, this, but how about I just go talk to Dr. Hilbert?” Hera sealed their door and split herself off to go trawling for the evil asshole who was probably responsible for their latest deadly adventure.

“No, no, we’re okay,” said Captain Lovelace. “We’ve got this. Right, Snuffy Pants?”

“You just called Dr. Maxwell ‘Snuffy Pants’.”

There was a long pause, and then “I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did too,” said Dr. Maxwell’s very muffled voice.

“Fine. Ignore it. Pretend you didn’t hear it. Strike it from your memory. Whatever.”

“But I like it when you call me Snuffy Pants.”

Hera heard the rustling of sheets and the slap of four feet hitting the floor. She tried her best to ignore what was going on in the room as she searched for Dr. Hilbert. Lab: FAILURE. Observation deck: FAILURE. Corridor leading to the _Urania_ : Oh crap.

“Uh… guys?”

“Yes, Hera?”

“Dr. Hilbert is face down in the corridor leading to the _Urania_. The hatch connecting the _Urania_ to the rest of the station is sealed. And Mr. Jacobi is setting up a bunch of explosives to blow it open. While humming the _1812 Overture_.”

The rustling of two women donning undershirts and jumpsuits stopped dead.

“Oh.”

“Shit.”

Hera unsealed their door. “I’m so glad you didn’t sing that.”

* * *

“So anyway, that’s basically what’s going on,” Hera said. “Captain Lovelace is trying to patch the damage to the system’s hardware and Dr. Maxwell is tying together a giant net to trap Mr. Jacobi.” She let her voice trail off into an echo and zoomed closer on Officer Eiffel.

His head remained pillowed on his arms as he huddled in the corner of the mess.

“Oh, and, uh, Dr. Hilbert probably has a really bad concussion. Maybe even some permanent damage?”  
  
Officer Eiffel let out a sob that wracked his body. His fingers tightened around his elbows, gleaming white against his orange jumpsuit. She picked up the faint plink of tears hitting the floor and the swish as he rocked himself back and forth.

“Of-Officer Eiffel?”

“We’re all gonna die here, Hera,” he whispered.

She didn’t have hands. She didn’t have a face. All she had was a disembodied voice on a space station orbiting an evil star.

A subroutine began to tick through the far flung reaches of her consciousness. What if they all did die, suffocated to death by bad air? Her processor pelted her with images of mummified flesh, withered hair, and horrified gasping mouths forever trying to take a lifesaving breath of oxygen.

What if Mr. Jacobi, blitzed out of his mind on giggle gas, blew a hole in the station? It was faster than suffocating to death, but left a lot less of a chance for a miracle to save the day.

What if she became a tomb for everyone she loved? Floating alone in the dull light of a diseased star until Mr. Cutter had her ripped open. Invaded her. Jettisoned the bodies of her friends into the void. Ripped out her memories and deleted her and deleted them from the universe. 

What if? What if? What if?

Officer Eiffel let out a hacking moan that sounded like grief trying to climb its way out of his throat. Another subroutine kicked in. Communications Officer Doug Eiffel. Quoting movies she’d never get to see. Telling her how happy he was to be home. Coming home to her.

And Hera began to sing. “He’s got eyes, of the bluest skies. As if they thought of rain. I hate to look into those eyes. And see an ounce of pain. His hair reminds me of a warm safe place. Where as a child I’d hide. And pray for the thunder, and the rain, to quietly pass me by.”

Officer Eiffel was looking up towards her camera, eyes bright blue and rimmed with red. He snuffled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Hera?”

“Sorry, Officer Eiffel. I… didn’t know what else to do. Kind of seemed like everyone else was doing that tonight.”

Her core processor sent up a reassuring chirp, happy to tell her that oxygen was once again circulating the _Hephaestus_. She shushed it, and instead stared back at Officer Eiffel who was crying again. It was somehow… softer this time. Fat drops of liquid rolling down his cheeks, but no more shuddering. No more horrible noises coming from his mouth. She catalogued this for further study.

“Officer Eiffel?”

“I didn’t know you knew that song, Hera.”

Sometimes she was glad she didn’t have a face. No blushing, without a face. “You uploaded it into my database. You never play it. It’s not part of the mixes. But I know it’s one of yours.” She paused and analyzed his face again. “Was it the wrong song?”

He smiled. “No. I love that song. I used to sing it to someone.”

And just like that, he’d ruined the moment. “To your girlfriend?”  
  
The smile faded. “No, just to a girl. A little girl.” His eyes unfocused. He was still facing her camera, but it was like he was looking at something lightyears away. She catalogued that, too. “Had big blue eyes. They looked kinda like mine.”

Enormous feet thundered through the corridor outside the mess, followed by the patter of smaller, faster steps and Captain Lovelace yelling “Get ‘im, Snuffy Pants!”

Hera switched over to the cameras in the hallway just in time to see Dr. Maxwell hurl a net woven out of electrical cable and zip ties over Mr. Jacobi. The big man fell to his knees and Dr. Maxwell jumped onto his back, riding him to the ground and screaming a fierce war cry.

Captain Lovelace leaned against the wall and watched, arms crossed over her chest and a grin on her face. “That’s my gal.”

Hera was about to  comment when Colonel Keppler’s voice overrode her speakers and rang out through the _Hephaestus_. “Congratulations to all of you on surviving our little stress test.” He took a noisy slurp through a straw. “I’m sure you’ll agree that—“

Hera shut down the intercoms and sealed the slightly scorched corridor leading to the Urania and Colonel Keppler’s smug hidey hole. After all, CO2 levels throughout the station were still elevated. It might not yet be safe for the crew. She was only following protocol.

Asshole.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Unbeated. Soooo unbeated.  
> 2) Written for GalaxyOwl for the #SecretSantaSummerHell2016. She requested some Hera love, Eiffera, femslash, a dearth of Hilbert, and zero sexytimes. Hope this fits the bill!


End file.
